


expectations and reality

by professortennant



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 22:42:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professortennant/pseuds/professortennant
Summary: Sam had always thought that when they finally broke–when the door to the room where they locked everything in cracked and burst open–that they would be frantic and hurried. She expected his grip to leave bruises on her hip and his mouth to leave darkening patches of red where he reassured himself she was still alive, still breathing, by kissing and sucking at her pulse point.She expected them to barely make it to her bedroom; expected something hard and fast against a wall or tumbling down to the floor in an array of scattered clothes.She doesn’t expect this.





	expectations and reality

Sam had always thought that when they finally broke–when the door to the room where they locked everything in cracked and burst open–that they would be frantic and hurried. She expected his grip to leave bruises on her hip and his mouth to leave darkening patches of red where he reassured himself she was still alive, still breathing, by kissing and sucking at her pulse point. 

She expected them to barely make it to her bedroom; expected something hard and fast against a wall or tumbling down to the floor in an array of scattered clothes. 

She doesn’t expect  _this._

She doesn’t expect him to touch her so softly, so gently–like she’ll break and disappear, vaporized into stardust and lifted back to the sky. He kisses her with reverence, his mouth sliding over hers, tongue stroking and soothing, drawing the pleasure out. 

Sam shivers against him, lets him pull her down the dark hallway to her bedroom, her lamp giving off enough of a glow so she can see him: eyes warm and piercing. His hand shakes when he brushes the hair from her cheek, thumb brushing over her bottom lip. She sees his struggle for words, sees the way he bites them down and starts again–searching, searching for the right words.

But they don’t need words; they never have.

She nips at the the pad of his thumb and strokes over his hip. “I’m okay,” she murmurs softly against his skin. She needs him to believe she’s okay;  _she_  needs to believe she’s okay. 

He shudders and steps into her space with a tortured, “ _Sam,”_ on his lips. She welcomes him into her arms, holds him close and strokes over the fine hairs on the nape of his neck. The catch of her nails against his scalp makes his hips buck against hers and she turns her face into his shoulder and grins, pleased. 

Jack walks her back to her bed and the back of her knees give way, sending her sprawling back onto the thick comforter. He pauses before following her down, stands between her legs and takes the sight of her in: eyes sparkling, skin flushed, hair mussed from his fingers, and grinning up shyly at him. 

He wants to remember this moment–something no memory stamp or Goa’uld or enemy can rob him of. 

Jack covers her body with his and she pretends not to notice the way his hand never strays from her ankle or wrist or neck–any place where he can feel the steady pulse of her heart beneath the skin. 

He undresses her slowly, bats her hands away when she tries to get him as naked as she is. He shakes his head and presses a tender kiss to the center of her palm, eyes imploring. “Just–just let me.”

She strokes the scar of his eyebrow and nods, leaning forward to kiss him once more. He deepens the kiss, cradles her head between his hands and she feels so, so safe here in his arms.

The rest of the night feels like someone set off a time dilation disruption. Jack takes him time–he’s slow and thorough and savoring every second of their time together. He isn’t sure if they will do this again–if they  _should_  do this again–and he’s making the most of it.

He strips her bare and allows her to divest him of his shirt. It’s all he’ll allow, though. He just wants to feel the press of her fingers against his skin, feel her thighs wrap around his head as he settles between her legs and touches her. 

At the first touch of his tongue to her sex, she gasps, hips flying off the bed and his name on her lips. He hums against her, the vibrations sending a shockwave of pleasure, and with one big palm presses against her hip and abdomen, holding her down. 

“Easy,” he murmurs, a soft command she’ll obey without question. 

Tongue and lips and teeth work in tandem upon her, alternately licking and sucking, teeth grazing, against the sensitive flesh. His fingers slide easily–so, so easily–inside of her and she clenches around him, rocking her hips and begging for more.

Jack O’Neill may be the only man she’ll beg for. 

He pauses and lifts his head, mouth glistening and wet and eyes drugged and dazed with pleasure. He watches her throw her head back, push her breasts up into her own hands, watches her chant his name and beg for more. He turns his head into the skin of her thigh and bites down, giving her a little pleasure to mix with her pain, and curls his fingers inside of her.

He issues a single command: “Come for me, Sam.”

She thrusts against his fingers and twists her nipple and the universe explodes behind her eyes as she tips over into pure pleasure, her body shaking and shivering with it. 

Jack’s fingers slip from her and he crawls up her body, covers every inch of her and she can feel him hard against her hip, but he makes no move to take this further–not yet anyway. 

It’s then that she realizes they’re both shaking and his hands slide between her and the bed to hold her close, his mouth is latched to her pulse point in her neck, and he’s murmuring  _You’re okay, you’re okay_  over and over again.

She wraps her arms around him and rolls them over, grunting softly with the effort, and she tangles them together: arms and legs and fingers. 

It’s not what she expected; but it’s what she needed.


End file.
